Max Headroom - Starting Anew
by ElegantButler
Summary: After a serious car accident, Bryce faces a difficult road with hard choices.
1. Prologue

Max Headroom: 20 Minutes into the Future  
Starting Anew

(Authors note: Not connected to any other Max Headroom stories I've written in the past. Also, this short story contains disturbing content related to automobile accidents.)

Bryce woke in the middle of the night trying to remember when he'd gone to bed. It wasn't easy. His head was swimming in one direction and the room was spinning in another. He assumed he was drugged for some reason and tried to sit up. The sudden light stung his eyes as he wondered why he hadn't noticed it's absence before.

"Easy there, kiddo," an unfamiliar woman in a white uniform told him. "You're not going anywhere right now. Do you need to use the bathroom?"

Bryce tried to say 'no' but found that his jaw seemed to be immobilized for some reason. He went to move his arm to check for a neck brace, but the nurse stopped him suddenly with a worried look on her face.

"Your neck is fine, you can shake your head or nod," the nurse told him.

Bryce shook his head "What's wrong with me? Why can't I remember how I got here? Why am I in the hospital? Have I flipped out?"

"Not yet," the nurse muttered as she opened the curtains to let in the morning sun.

"What?" Bryce asked.

The nurse shook her head, then sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted the pillow.

"I could do that," Bryce snapped. "Or did I break my arm?"

"I'll get the doctor," the nurse told him. Instead of leaving, she reached into her pocket and touched the pager that was nestled inside.

It wasn't long before a woman in her early fifties arrived accompanied by a young burly man in his late twenties. Bryce wondered why the man was there. He looked like a bouncer. At home at a night club, but out of place in a hospital.

"Is that guy really necessary?" Theora asked, echoing Bryce's unspoken thought as she eyed the muscular man standing by the doctor.

"He might be when Bryce finds out what happened to him," Edison as he watched the scene in the room unfold with a guilt-ridden heart.

Guilt-ridden because Bryce hadn't wanted to attend the Scumball game last night. Because Edison had pressured Bryce into going. No it hadn't been Edison who'd been driving in an exhausted state. It hadn't been Edison who had fallen asleep at the wheel.

"We shouldn't be out here," Theora told Edison. "He's going to need us by him when he finds out what's happened."

"He's going to hate me," Edison replied. "I know he will. I hate me for it."

"I need you to remain calm," the doctor told Bryce as she sat on the edge of the bed. "How much do you remember about Wednesday night?"

Bryce shook his head. He tried to remember but all that came to his mind was a lot of spinning lights and then a sudden tearing pain. No. That wasn't right. The lights hadn't been spinning. He'd been spinning. Or rather, the car he was in had been spinning out of control. Edison, Theora, and Murray had been in the car with him. Had they been killed? Would these people believe he worked for Network 23? Would they send him home to his parents or maybe to one of the state homes?

He made a noise as he tried to speak. Hearing him, the doctor put a finger to his lips. "Your jaw was badly fractured in the accident. You won't be able to speak for a couple of weeks. There's something more imporant that we need to talk about right now."

Bryce went to reach for his mouth, wondering if his teeth were intact. He didn't dare risk cutting his tongue if there were only jagged bits of them left. As he brought up his right arm, he stopped and stared at it in horror. Or rather, he stared at where it should've been.

"And here's where Bryce freaks out," Edison whispered to Theora.

"My arm!" Bryce wailed, his words slightly slurred by the damage to his jaw. Tears fell down his face as he sobbed in agony.

Edison approached him, trying to offer comfort. But Bryce was inconsolable.

"Listen," the doctor said, as the burly man grabbed Bryce and held him so that he could not hurt himself, either accidentally or otherwise. "Your right arm and left hand were severed in the accident along with your right leg. We've already run tissue tests and we've found a set of limbs that are the proper size and compatibility for you. Except for the leg. You've got two choices. You can risk waiting for a biological replacement. Or we can give you a mechanical one now. If you wait, the deterioration of nerve endings may make a biological attachment impossible at a later time."

"If he takes a mechanical one now, can he get a biological one when it becomes available?" Theora asked, hoping her reasonable tone would encourage Bryce to calm down.

"I'm afraid not," the doctor told her. "Once a patient has been fitted with a mechanical limb the nerve-endings are fitted with a special device that restructures the signal patterns to make them compatible with the new limb. Once that device is in place, it cannot be removed without causing permanent damage to the nerve endings it was attached to."

Bryce's sobs subsided as his mind attached itself to the anchor of technology in the doctor's words. After a few minutes, the burly man released him and set him back down against the mattress as gently as possible.

"What happens if he goes with the wait?" Theora asked.

"If he waits too long, the only type of prosthesis he'll be able to use is a glorified peg-leg. I'd take the mechanical leg now. We don't get very many accident victims his age or size. You have just two days to decide," he added, speaking directly to Bryce this time. "I wouldn't even wait that long, if I were you, though."

"What happens if he does take the leg?"

"We'll add the adapters to the leg-stump when we operate on the other limbs. After that, he'll be in physical therapy for quite some time. He'll be learning to control a new limb. But he will be re-training his new biological limbs as well. It will take a long time."

Bryce sniffled a bit at this. Edison pulled a tissue from the box and helped the distraught young genius to blow his nose. The idea that he couldn't do it himself brought a fresh round of sobs from the teenager. Edison used a clean tissue to wipe the tears from Bryce's eyes.

Bryce gave Edison a look that held a mixture of accusation, forgiveness, gratitude and grief. Then, he looked up at the doctor.

"Do you want the mechanical leg?" Theora asked him.

Bryce nodded, just a little.

"I think you've made the right choice," the doctor told him.

"Kick?" Bryce asked, eyeing Edison. He hated being reduced to simple words and phrases. But anything more hurt his still-healing jaw. He was sure his teeth were intact now. If they hadn't been, he was sure he'd have had a bleeding tongue by this time.

"Edison's already kicking his own ass over this, Bryce," Theora reassured him.

"He can." Bryce remarked. And as the truth of his situation came back to him, Bryce began to sob again while Edison held tissues for him to blow his nose and wiped the tears from his eyes. This time, the kind act offered no consolation. The sobs grew steadily worse until Bryce began to vomit.

Theora got paper towels from the bathroom and cleaned up the mess while the doctor approached with a small syringe that contained a small amount of fluid.

"Just a mild sedative," she told them. "It'll lessen the chance of a repeat of what just happened. We can't give you too much. Your body's already heavily drugged with several painkillers."

Bryce looked up into Edison's eyes as he felt the needle being pushed into his shoulder, relaxing against Edison as drug took effect.

"He'll sleep for about an hour," the doctor reassured Edison and Theora. "We've already ordered the mechanical leg so we'll be able to do surgery once it arrives. Which should be later this afternoon."

"Nice," Bryce whispered. He opened his eyes woozily for a moment, remarked "Pretty Theora." and then fell into a light sleep.

"Well," Theora decided. "At least we know his mind is still working perfectly."


	2. Chapter One:

Max Headroom: 20 Minutes into the Future  
Starting Anew

(Authors note: Not connected to any other Max Headroom stories I've written in the past. Also, this story contains disturbing content related to automobile accidents.)

-Chapter One: Self-Blame, Regret, and a Sensible Nurse-

While Bryce slept, Edison sat in a stiff-backed chair beside his hospital bed. His heart ached with guilt and contrition.

"We have a more comfortable chair," a nurse offered as she unwrapped a disposable thermometer patch and placed it on the sleeping boy's forehead. While it was working, she took a kit of bandages and began to change the dressings on the stumps of Bryce's limbs.

"Why should I be comfortable?" Edison asked her. "He isn't. Yes, he's on painkillers right now so he's not feeling it too badly. But he can't stay on them forever. And that physical therapy is going to be a long and painful experience."

"There's nothing you could've done," the nurse told Edison as the thermometer let out a soft tone to let her know it was ready to be read. Ignoring this for the moment, she worked on bandaging up the stump of Bryce's upper arm while the unfortunate youth slept.

Edison looked sadly at the place where an arm should've been. "No. There is something I could've done. I could've not pressured him into go with us to that Scumball game. He said he didn't want to. I made him go. Don't you get it? This is entirely my fault."

"So you don't think that at least some of the blame might fall upon the shoulders of the driver who was behind the wheel even though they were exhausted at the time." She finished rewrapping the limb she was dealing with and checked the thermometer strip. "Ninety nine," she said. "Within normal range."

"Edison," Theora suggested, "you need to eat. Let's get some breakfast in the cafeteria while the nurse finishes up here."

"Might as well," Edison decided, morosely. "I'm probably the last person Bryce will want to see when he wakes up anyhow. I wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to see me again."

"He doesn't really blame you," Theora told him.

"You heard him, Theora. Before they sedated him he said himself that this was my fault."

"He's upset and scared and angry right now," Theora told him.

"She's right," the nurse said as she worked on the last set of bandages. "While all this is going on, your young friend is going to experiencing a lot of pain and negative emotions. He's going to be angry, confused. He'll say things he doesn't really mean. I deal with a lot of lost-limb and amputee cases. Most of the ones I've worked with have had a kind of stage-fright. They feel like the whole world is looking at the scar where the limb was reattached, even if it's covered. It's worse if they're left only with a stump or an obvious prosthesis."

"You mean paranoia?" Edison asked.

"No. They don't feel the staring is directed at them on a personal level," the nurse told them. "Quite the opposite. They feel depersonalized. Like people are focusing on the stump rather than on the person."

"So then I should probably..." Edison began.

The doctor shook her head as she returned to the room with a clip chart in her hand.

"You don't want to overcompensate to make him feel better," she said. "It'll only make him think you're babying him. The best thing to do is to just continue being his friend. Don't walk away for the sake of your feelings of guilt about what's happened. He'll just misinterpret that as rejection." She turned to the nurse.

"I just changed the bandages," the nurse told her. "No sign of infection. Temperature slightly elevated but still under a hundred degrees."

"Excellent," the doctor smiled. "I just came back to tell you the prosthetic leg just arrived and the biological replacements are also ready. So we'll be bringing him in for surgery within the next hour."

"I was just going to take Edison to the cafeteria," Theora told her.

"Very good idea, Miss Jones," the doctor agreed, peering at Edison's midriff. "I think I can see a few ribs too many. You need to stop mourning the living and get some food in you." She turned to Theora. "Get this man some food, then take him home and make him go to sleep. I don't want him to be the cause of somebody else going through what your friend is now dealing with."

"Bryce.." Edison said.

"Bryce will be in surgery by the time you've finished eating," the doctor informed him. "We'll keep you posted on his condition and I promise you we'll let you know when it's over."

"Thank you," Theora said, as she led Edison out of the room and down the hall to the lift.


	3. Chapter Two

Max Headroom: 20 Minutes into the Future  
Starting Anew

(Authors note: Not connected to any other Max Headroom stories I've written in the past. Also, this story contains disturbing content related to automobile accidents.)

-Chapter Three: Mrs. Reynolds-

It was about four in the morning when Bryce finally awakened. He could feel the weight of the new hand and arm that had been surgically attached the day before. They had no feeling in them at the present moment. He wondered if the surgery had not been as successful as the doctors had hoped. Were these new limbs just for show? It seemed a waste of time.

He tried to get back to sleep, but could not bring himself to do so. The new limbs were useless. Probably would be useless for the rest of his life. The only consolation they brought now was that he no longer looked like the helpless invalid that he knew he now was.

"You've been up for a while," the day nurse observed as she walked in at around seven and saw the dour look on his face."

"Three hours," Bryce replied, darkly.

"And in three hours that's the best face you could find?" the nurse scolded, cheerfully. "It doesn't suit your age."

"Oh, really?" Bryce asked, raising an eyebrow in a quizzically sarcastic manner.

"That's much better," the nurse smiled as she placed a thermometer strip on his forehead and changed the wrappings that protected the stitches where his new limbs and the connection for his prosthetic leg were.

"Where's my new leg?" Bryce asked, mildly alarmed that it wasn't attached.

"It's not to be worn in bed," the nurse told him. "It would make it tricky to get up because of the weight. The physical therapist will explain more when she comes in later this morning."

"Physical therapist?" Bryce asked.

"Yes," the nurse replied, removing the thermometer strip and looking at his temperature. "Ninety-eight point eight. Very good. I'll be back in a couple of hours. They'll be bringing you breakfast in a few minutes."

"Feeding me like a baby," Bryce complained.

"Better than starvation," the nurse declared. "Besides, it's only temporary. Until you have better sensation in your new hand and arm."

That sounded promising, and Bryce allowed himself the ghost of a smile. He was so relieved at the idea that the new limbs were not just for show that he did not complain for the rest of the morning.

The physical therapist arrived a few minutes later, introducing herself as Mrs. Linda Reynolds. She explained to him that as the mother of five sons, she was quite comfortable with helping a male patient with bathing and other activities that would involve at least partial nudity.

"You haven't got anything that either my kids or my husband doesn't," she told him with a cheeky grin. "So there's nothing you have to be embarrassed or ashamed of."

"Just a prosthetic leg," Bryce remarked.

"Nope," Mrs. Reynolds corrected him. "My oldest son has one of those. Went under a bus with his skateboard. Really lucky he didn't get killed. I thank God every time I watch him put that leg on that he's alive to do so. I was originally just a standard nurse. I upgraded to physical therapist so I could help treat my son. I wanted to be a part of his recovery. I was there when he learned to walk the first time, and I wanted to be there when he learned it again."

After learning that, Bryce took it pretty much in stride when she assisted him in the bathroom, and afterward in the walk-in bath, showing him how to place the protective cover on his leg-stump. It was mildly embarrassing, but the truth was that he was relieved to know that these were things he would eventually be doing by himself again in the future. That knowledge was so gratifying, it made the embarrassment no worse than the type he might have felt as a child if he felt while learning to ride a bike.

After Bryce was finished in the bath, Mrs. Reynolds helped him out of the tub.

"In time, your limbs will be strong enough for you to use the crutches you will need in the bathroom."

"At least until someone invents a submersible prosthetic leg." Bryce said, regretting it afterward as his jaw was still healing.

"Maybe we should get you a talk-pad to communicate with until your jaw finishes healing," the physical therapist suggested, writing it down in her notes.

After Bryce had been dried off, Mrs. Reynolds showed him how to attach his prosthetic leg.

"Of course, until your arms have full sensation, you'll need to be in a wheel chair. But the doctor wants you to wear your new leg a few hours each day in order for your nerve endings to adjust to the impulses they'll need to send out to the new leg in order to make it function."

Bryce gave her a look that conveyed his understanding of the situation.

"Now, we'll need to work out your short and long term goals as well as discuss what we'll need to add to your home as far as assistive equipment goes. Your goals should include strengthening exercises for your muscles, plus working with improving your level of comfort with your new limbs. Short term goals will probably include learning to adjust to the numbness you're likely to feel for the first few weeks even after movement returns to your fingers and arm. It may take some time before you can grip objects firmly enough to avoid dropping them. But you will in time."

Bryce nodded, and gave a yawn.

"Take a nap," Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "You've done a lot this morning. I'll come back after lunch."

Bryce let her position him on the bed, remove the prosthetic leg, and cover him with the sheet.

"Rest well," she wished him, as she left the room.


	4. Chapter Three

Max Headroom: 20 Minutes into the Future  
Starting Anew

(Authors note: Not connected to any other Max Headroom stories I've written in the past. Also, this story contains disturbing content related to automobile accidents.)

-Chapter Four: Carter's Reprieve and Two Old Classmates Arrive-

After his morning shower and cup of coffee, Edison put on his clothes and tapped the buttons on his kitchen vu-phone.

"I trust you can tell me where the head of my Research and Development department is?" Cheviot asked.

'Oh shit,' Edison thought to himself, "Cheviot's back early."

There must've been a more revealing expression on his face, because Cheviot frowned.

"Bryce?" The older man asked, clearly fearing the worst.

"He's alive, thank God," Edison told him. "But the crash was pretty bad."

"How bad exactly?" Cheviot asked. "His mind wasn't..."

"That survived intact, sir," Edison told him, stressing the word 'that'.

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"One hand, one arm, and one leg were severed," Edison explained, causing Cheviot to wince in sympathy pain. Quickly he added, "Replacements have already been attached. He needed a artificial leg, though. There were no biologicals that were compatible. I was just calling to say that I'm taking the day off to spend a little time with him at the hospital."

"You said crash," Cheviot said, backtracking.

"Yes, sir. I took him to a Scumball game along with Murray and Theora. The rest of us were also mildly injured, but he was sitting in the spot that the other vehicle hit. It's a miracle he wasn't killed."

"I've never pegged Bryce as one who would voluntarily attend a live sporting event," Cheviot mused.

"I made him go," Edison confessed. "All of this is my fault. I'll understand if you want me to resign."

"Resign! Are you out of your skull, Carter? My Head of Research and Development is out of commission for God knows how long and you want to cripple this network even further by removing our top presenter? You can have the weekend off to make amends with Bryce. But I want you back on the job first thing on Monday. Have I made that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Edison agreed.

"Good," Cheviot said, reaching for the disconnect switch. "Tell Bryce we're all pushing for him."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it, sir," Edison replied as his boss brought the call to an end. He finished his cup of coffee, then headed out the door.

Bryce was stilll napping when his former classmates, Douglas and Jenny, appeared in the door of his hospital room.

"May I help you?" Mrs. Reynolds asked.

"Are you the physical therapist?" Douglas asked.

"Yes. And you are...?"

"Douglas McDougal and Jenny Parker," Douglas replied. "We were Bryce's classmates at ACS."

"We heard he was injured and wanted to see how he was doing," Jenny added.

"How'd you get in here?" Mrs. Reynolds inquired. "This is a highly exclusive area."

"Hijacked a gurney," Jenny smiled.

"Learning to play doctor as a kid does have it's benefits," Douglas added with a smirk.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"I should have you removed," Mrs. Reynolds warned them. "However, since you are only here out of concern for a dear friend, I'll tell you what. I need to make copies of his exercise and rehab chart. That should take me about twenty minutes due to copier problems. You have that amount of time to visit."

"Thank you," Jenny told Mrs. Reynolds as she departed.

Mrs. Reynolds knew she could get fired for doing what she was now doing. But she also knew how important the presence and encouragement of friends was. These two teens were friends of her client and that, to her at least, was more important than social status.

Jenny wasn't concerned about any of these things. All that mattered to her and Douglas was that their former classmate had been badly hurt and was struggling to recover in the hospital.

Douglas disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. While he was gone, Jenny sat on the edge of Bryce's bed, gently running her fingers through his hair, frowning at the framework of bandages wrapped around his head. Glad that neither his teeth nor nose were listed as broken, she nevertheless felt tears running down her face.

"At least your handsome face is still intact," she whispered, unaware that Douglas had returned to the room and was listening to her."

She clasped Bryce's right hand in her own and gazed down at it. It was and wasn't his hand at the same time. For a moment, she pondered the age old question of how much of a person could be replaced before they became someone new; and who would they be if they did.

"Pondering?" Bryce asked, sleepily, as he woke and saw her sitting there.

"Yes," Jenny admitted. "The old body replacement conundrum."

"That one would give Socrates a run for his money." Douglas grinned.

"I think I have it figured out, though," Jenny smiled.

"Oh?" Bryce inquired.

"Who you are after all that depends upon who you are in the mind and heart of someone who loves you," Jenny explained, blushing slightly, looking directly into Bryce's eyes.

Those eyes widened as he realized what she was telling him.

"I think I'll just leave you two alone," Douglas said, leaving the room before either could stop him. He hadn't gone far before he ran into Edison.

"Old classmate?" Edison asked him.

Douglas nodded. "Jenny's talking with him right now," he warned. "I'd leave them alone right now if I were you."

"Girlfriend?" Edison was rather amazed. Bryce had always been one to keep his emotions in check. The accident had changed that, however. Edison was admittedly curious to know how much.

"Possibly," Douglas told him. "She's really sweet on him. Mind you, they're going to have to work really hard to make this work. He's bound to feel that she's only in the relationship because she feels sorry for him. And there will be those who encourage that feeling."

"Why?" Edison asked.

"Do you really think Twenty-Three is the only network with a pet genius?" Douglas asked him. "We're everywhere."

"She's with Sixty-Six, isn't she?" Edison realized. "Well, if either Cheviot or Grossberg cause any problems, we'll just deal with that problem when we get to it."

"Truth is," Douglas admitted, "those two are so perfectly matched genetically speaking that if you wanted to protect any relationship between them, I and the rest of us 'pet geniuses' are at your disposal."

"Nice to know," Edison told him.


	5. Chapter Four

Max Headroom: 20 Minutes into the Future  
Starting Anew

(Authors note: Not connected to any other Max Headroom stories I've written in the past. Also, this story contains disturbing content related to automobile accidents.)

-Chapter Four: Carter's Reprieve and Two Old Classmates Arrive-

After his morning shower and cup of coffee, Edison put on his clothes and tapped the buttons on his kitchen vu-phone.

"I trust you can tell me where the head of my Research and Development department is?" Cheviot asked.

'Oh shit,' Edison thought to himself, "Cheviot's back early."

There must've been a more revealing expression on his face, because Cheviot frowned.

"Bryce?" The older man asked, clearly fearing the worst.

"He's alive, thank God," Edison told him. "But the crash was pretty bad."

"How bad exactly?" Cheviot asked. "His mind wasn't..."

"That survived intact, sir," Edison told him, stressing the word 'that'.

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"One hand, one arm, and one leg were severed," Edison explained, causing Cheviot to wince in sympathy pain. Quickly he added, "Replacements have already been attached. He needed a artificial leg, though. There were no biologicals that were compatible. I was just calling to say that I'm taking the day off to spend a little time with him at the hospital."

"You said crash," Cheviot said, backtracking.

"Yes, sir. I took him to a Scumball game along with Murray and Theora. The rest of us were also mildly injured, but he was sitting in the spot that the other vehicle hit. It's a miracle he wasn't killed."

"I've never pegged Bryce as one who would voluntarily attend a live sporting event," Cheviot mused.

"I made him go," Edison confessed. "All of this is my fault. I'll understand if you want me to resign."

"Resign! Are you out of your skull, Carter? My Head of Research and Development is out of commission for God knows how long and you want to cripple this network even further by removing our top presenter? You can have the weekend off to make amends with Bryce. But I want you back on the job first thing on Monday. Have I made that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Edison agreed.

"Good," Cheviot said, reaching for the disconnect switch. "Tell Bryce we're all pushing for him."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it, sir," Edison replied as his boss brought the call to an end. He finished his cup of coffee, then headed out the door.

Bryce was stilll napping when his former classmates, Douglas and Jenny, appeared in the door of his hospital room.

"May I help you?" Mrs. Reynolds asked.

"Are you the physical therapist?" Douglas asked.

"Yes. And you are...?"

"Douglas McDougal and Jenny Parker," Douglas replied. "We were Bryce's classmates at ACS."

"We heard he was injured and wanted to see how he was doing," Jenny added.

"How'd you get in here?" Mrs. Reynolds inquired. "This is a highly exclusive area."

"Hijacked a gurney," Jenny smiled.

"Learning to play doctor as a kid does have it's benefits," Douglas added with a smirk.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"I should have you removed," Mrs. Reynolds warned them. "However, since you are only here out of concern for a dear friend, I'll tell you what. I need to make copies of his exercise and rehab chart. That should take me about twenty minutes due to copier problems. You have that amount of time to visit."

"Thank you," Jenny told Mrs. Reynolds as she departed.

Mrs. Reynolds knew she could get fired for doing what she was now doing. But she also knew how important the presence and encouragement of friends was. These two teens were friends of her client and that, to her at least, was more important than social status.

Jenny wasn't concerned about any of these things. All that mattered to her and Douglas was that their former classmate had been badly hurt and was struggling to recover in the hospital.

Douglas disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. While he was gone, Jenny sat on the edge of Bryce's bed, gently running her fingers through his hair, frowning at the framework of bandages wrapped around his head. Glad that neither his teeth nor nose were listed as broken, she nevertheless felt tears running down her face.

"At least your handsome face is still intact," she whispered, unaware that Douglas had returned to the room and was listening to her."

She clasped Bryce's right hand in her own and gazed down at it. It was and wasn't his hand at the same time. For a moment, she pondered the age old question of how much of a person could be replaced before they became someone new; and who would they be if they did.

"Pondering?" Bryce asked, sleepily, as he woke and saw her sitting there.

"Yes," Jenny admitted. "The old body replacement conundrum."

"That one would give Socrates a run for his money." Douglas grinned.

"I think I have it figured out, though," Jenny smiled.

"Oh?" Bryce inquired.

"Who you are after all that depends upon who you are in the mind and heart of someone who loves you," Jenny explained, blushing slightly, looking directly into Bryce's eyes.

Those eyes widened as he realized what she was telling him.

"I think I'll just leave you two alone," Douglas said, leaving the room before either could stop him. He hadn't gone far before he ran into Edison.

"Old classmate?" Edison asked him.

Douglas nodded. "Jenny's talking with him right now," he warned. "I'd leave them alone right now if I were you."

"Girlfriend?" Edison was rather amazed. Bryce had always been one to keep his emotions in check. The accident had changed that, however. Edison was admittedly curious to know how much.

"Possibly," Douglas told him. "She's really sweet on him. Mind you, they're going to have to work really hard to make this work. He's bound to feel that she's only in the relationship because she feels sorry for him. And there will be those who encourage that feeling."

"Why?" Edison asked.

"Do you really think Twenty-Three is the only network with a pet genius?" Douglas asked him. "We're everywhere."

"She's with Sixty-Six, isn't she?" Edison realized. "Well, if either Cheviot or Grossberg cause any problems, we'll just deal with that problem when we get to it."

"Truth is," Douglas admitted, "those two are so perfectly matched genetically speaking that if you wanted to protect any relationship between them, I and the rest of us 'pet geniuses' are at your disposal."

"Nice to know," Edison told him.


End file.
